


The Ghost of Grief

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Grief, Miscarriage, Mourning, Post-All That Remains, Post-Arishok Duel, Rated M for Mature Themes, They've worked out their issues so there's not that 3-year mutual pining episode thank god, pregnancy loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:53:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: Loss makes everyone insecure, even people as strong as Hawke and Fenris.





	The Ghost of Grief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIvy89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIvy89/gifts).



She was sitting in his room—the only one he used, the only one he’d bothered to clean and put back into some semblance of order—when he came back to the mansion, exhausted and bloody from a trip into the nearby caves to flush out bandits for Aveline.

He stopped short; nothing about him was ready for company, but Hawke’s distant, mournful expression kept his objections quiet. Fenris slowly peeled off his armor, wiping each piece off with whatever rags he found nearby. Their usual polish could wait, he decided, stacking the metal and leather on the table.

“Gwen,” he finally said, voice rough and raspy. He considered her still form, uncharacteristically huddled into a ball on his bed, and frowned. She wasn’t supposed to be out of bed yet, according to the abomination, still fragile after the battle with the Arishok a few short weeks ago. He had taken to staying with her for that reason, to keep an eye on her and assist as needed, but Hawke was Hawke and wont to do as she pleased.

“It’s after midnight,” he pointed out instead.

It wasn’t the first time she’d snuck in unannounced; she had made a habit of it even before they had started “courting,” as Leandra once called their association. At least she locked the door behind her when she broke in. Isabela was never that thoughtful. He watched her take a long pull from whatever bottle she held onto for dear life. The grimace that followed told him she wasn’t enjoying herself.

“I’m not sure how much longer it’ll be before this city kills me, Fen,” Gwen said with a wry smile. She lifted the bottle in a mocking salute. “Maybe this swill will do it first. It tastes like it might, anyway.”

Fenris eyed the drink and sighed, crawling into the bed to fold himself around her. “That rotgut just might,” he said with mock solemnity, nuzzling the soft skin behind her ear. “I have a whole wine cellar to drink or destroy, you know you’re more than welcome to it.”

“What, and deprive you of your brooding fuel? Pah.”

“Is that what this is?” Fenris slid his hand down along Gwen’s arm until it rested over hers on the bottle. “Brooding fuel?”

“It’s the finest Orlesian attempt at whisky, so I’m told,” Gwen said with a dry laugh. “Maker, for as long as Orlais occupied Ferelden, you’d think they would have at least stolen a recipe or two and learned to make decent alcohol.”

Fenris snorted at that and curled around her, breathing her in. “Do I need to go get one of the sleeping draughts the abomination brewed for you?”

“No, no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I can’t…” Gwen trailed off. “You know I hate it when you call him that, Fenris.”

He sighed. “I’m trying, Hawke,” he grumbled against the nape of her neck. “Do I need to get the sleeping draught _Anders_ brewed for you?”

Gwen didn’t answer, and Fenris had almost made it off the bed when she gripped his wrist. “No, please,” she said. Her voice wavered. “I can’t, not tonight. Not after… No.”

“Gwendoline.” He settled around her once more, scooping her up against him. She leaned her head upon his shoulder. “What’s wrong, _amata_? What happened?”

She took a long pull from the bottle before speaking, her quiet words slurred with drink. “I keep seeing her. A little girl, with my gold eyes and your ears. Have been for a while now.” Gwen turned her head, studying his profile. “She has your eyebrows, too, swear to the Maker.”

The words rocked him, thunder in his chest. _A little girl._ He could have—he should have— Fenris melted around her without a thought, burying his face in her neck.

They hadn’t talked about it when Hawke was found sobbing in her bed, bloody and distraught. Orana had come and ushered Gwen into the bath, sequestering her away while Fenris gathered up the bloodied bedclothes and ruined mattress. It didn’t take a midwife to know what happened, not with that much blood.

She had cried for a week, already burdened with her grief over Leandra’s murder, and he watched, and waited, and shed his own silent tears for the loss. _I am yours,_ he murmured night after night since, and early one morning she had found the words and allowed him to share in her pain.

That had been most of a year ago.

“A demon,” he muttered against her shoulder. “Grief, or... “ He racked his brain, the catalog of demons a hard-won lesson from Tevinter and from his dubious association with the witch. “Despair.”

Gwen smacked his hand with feigned reproach. “Not every freaky dream thing is a demon. Or so I’m told.” She shivered in his arms and fell quiet, soft sniffles punctuating the silence. “But I don’t know, to be honest. I saw her again tonight. She called me ‘mama’ and I had to get out of my house. You weren’t home.”

His arms tightened around her and he slowly moved up the bed, arranging themselves among the bedding. Fenris pointedly took the bottle from her hand, sniffed the contents, and took an unceremonious drink only to sputter and grimace as it burnt its way down his throat.

“Rotgut, indeed,” he confirmed with a curl of his lip. Fenris bent back to set it on the floor before turning to hold Gwen again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I knew that if I didn’t take care of those bandits, you would have done so yourself, and the ab— _Anders_ would be mad at me for allowing you to do so, and we would fight, and he would lose, and then you would have been mad at me for killing him. It really was for your best interest.”

Gwen didn’t respond, not even a soft chuckle at the weak attempt to joke; instead she turned to face him, plastering against him as far as she could get. “Run away with me,” she muttered into his shoulder. “We’ll fight our way somewhere, somewhere warm. Antiva. Rivain. Anywhere but Kirkwall, with its ghosts and tendency toward Void-damned blood magic.”

“Gwendoline…”

“Maybe it’s a Veil thing. Anders and Merrill both mention the Veil being thin. Maybe this ghost just—just—”

Fenris cradled the back of her head as she wept into his shirt, his other hand slipping under her tunic to rub small circles into the skin of her back. Shudders wracked her body and he could only hold her. Tears slid down his own cheeks to dampen the pillow beneath him.

“I’m sorry,” he said impotently once she stilled, once she fell silent. “I… I don’t know how to help, but I’m here, Gwen. I’m here.”

“It’s so stupid,” she said, irritated. Gwen rubbed her face on his shoulder. “I should have been more careful. Should have taken the witherstalk on time. I could have—I could have prevented this in the first place. It’s my fault, I should have _cared_ more. But I didn’t, and I lost it. I lose everyone. I should be used to it.”

“Gwendoline Hawke.” He pulled away and urged her head back, meeting her eyes. “Gwen,” he said again, gentler now. Fenris cupped her face, his thumb feathering over her cheekbone. “No one blames you. It—I—we—”

She looked so vulnerable like this, at odds with the confident bluntness shown to others. Her passion and fury he could handle, but this, the fragility of guilt, of loss… “I don’t know how to make it better,” he murmured, tears of his own gathering in his gaze.

“I miss my mother,” she whispered back, eyes watering again. “I miss her so damn much. We fought like cats and dogs but Maker, what I would give. She would know what to do."

Fenris pulled the blankets over them, clothes and all. Laundry could be something meaningful some other night. He cradled Gwen in his arms and hummed, some nameless tune he only half-remembered from some seedy inn or another, petting her back as she broke open again.

The fire had burnt low when she stirred in his arms again, finally empty. “I’m sorry,” she muttered hoarsely. “I’m not usually this… weak.”

“You are one of the strongest people I know, Hawke,” Fenris replied with a yawn. He looked down to meet her red-rimmed eyes. “You taught me that one cannot bear their pain alone, and that was a hard-learned lesson. You must take your own advice to heart and lean on us. On me.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me now, Fen.” Her laugh came out forced, shaking under its own weight.

He shook his head and nuzzled at her temple, breath puffing through the dark strands of hair there. “I fear the time for that has passed. Sleep, _amata_. You may feel better in the morning.”

Hawke groaned and rolled away. “The only thing I’m gonna feel is this hangover. There was most of a bottle of that swill Orlesians call whisky when I got here.”

He snorted and settled, his eyes taking in her face with sleepy attention. She stared back at him, golden eyes soft.

“Fenris, don’t leave me,” she said shakily. “Or, rather, give me some warning, if you can.”

He frowned and scooted closer, brushing a kiss to her lips. “I am right here, Gwen,” he said, speaking the words against her mouth. “I am yours.”

She curled into him once more. Fenris watched as she fell asleep, her pale face finally relaxed and free of the sorrow she had worn. He traced the shell of her ear, down her throat, along her spine. Hawke, his Hawke, his _amata_ —so strong, but he knew that even silverite could crack if not cared for properly.

_Maybe this ghost just—_

He closed his eyes on the vision of the little girl, all amber eyed and elven ears peeking through dark hair. _Hawke’s influence,_ he mused, bittersweet. All the best things in his life were, nowadays.

Fenris held her tight and let the pillow catch his tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul!](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com)  
> 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! If you have concrit I would appreciate hearing from you on Tumblr, linked above. Thank you for reading!


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